I don't have a watch. There's a clock up on the wall. I'm going to the training room. Just later.

There was no later. There's never a later with Carlos Quentin anymore. He blows you off, usually impolitely, then disappears until the clubhouse closes.

But there was poetry in his dismissal Tuesday afternoon. It was fitting that he offered hope for a conversation instead of giving a flat-out "no."

After all, it's not just ink-stained columnists who have been waiting on Quentin -- it's all of San Diego.

Thursday is the MLB trade deadline and Quentin's value is approximately squat. He's a $9 million-a-year-player who's managed to hit .177 in the 50 games he has actually played.

If there is a flag-bearer for the Padres' futility, if there is an archetype for the disappointment that's daunted this year's team -- it's Quentin. Once the hometown hero, he's become the local letdown.

Let's review. Since joining the Padres in December of 2011, the University of San Diego High grad has played in 218 out of a possible 430 games. Most of the absences have been due to forever-fragile knees that again have him on the disabled list.

When healthy, Quentin has flashed signs of the power he flaunted with the White Sox, for whom he hit 117 home runs over a four-year stretch. But this year -- with just four long balls in 130 at-bats -- he's been more valuable on the bench than he has the field.

This isn't due to lack of effort, of course. Say what you will about Quentin's disposition, but questioning his competitiveness would be misguided at best and insulting at worst. In fact, the left fielder's penchant for diving for balls he has no chance of catching is part of what makes him so injury-prone.

But at the Major League level, you don't get gold stars for trying. You're evaluated on results and results alone, and Quentin, who's under contract through at least 2015, hasn't produced.

His one truly memorable moment during this three-year stretch with the Padres came when he charged Dodgers pitcher Zack Greinke last season and earned an eight-game suspension after breaking Greinke's collarbone. And while Padres fans may lament how Quentin put his temper ahead of the betterment of the team, they may also be thinking "man, if only he could make such contact these days."

Sorry, maybe that was a cheap shot. None of this can be easy on Carlos. He's playing on the team he grew up rooting for, performing in front of his hometown fans, and putting up tomato-splat numbers in the process. He may come to the ballpark glowering every day, but that doesn't mean he's not tearing up inside.

"It weighs on him heavily. I think there's a great deal of anguish," Padres manager Bud Black said. "You add up the time spent away from the game, and it's hard on the players. I've always maintained that players want to play."